Where Your Destiny Lies
by StarAbide
Summary: The Lifestream decides to move in with her sister in another dimension, two very different worlds collide, and Yuri Plisetsky cannot believe how much of a loser his Gaian counterpart seems to be.
1. Chapter 1

Yuri was not an angry person by nature. Really, he wasn't. It was not his goddamn fault that the world was filled with so many legitimate reasons for rage.

"Yurio!"

Case in point.

"That's not my name!" the blond skater snarled.

He did not know why he bothered, of course. The only person on Earth who could shake the older Russian's infuriatingly cheerful calm was Katsudon, and Viktor's Japanese fiancé was smiling at Yuri apologetically from behind the silver-haired skater's shoulder as they all, unfortunately, reached the same hotel door in Barcelona.

"And get your own room," he growled, green eyes narrowing. "This one is mine."

"Ours," Viktor said sweetly. "You're underage-"

"I'm sixteen!"

"-and so it's either us, or Yakov and Lilia." Viktor did not wait for a reply, pushing past the irate blond, key card in hand.

Yuuri rested a hand on the younger Yuri's shoulder, nudging him to follow the taller man as Viktor opened the hotel door and strode inside. "You can have the first shower," the Japanese skater said in English, voice conciliatory.

"Yeah, great," Yuri growled in the same language, snapping his shoulder away from Katsudon's touch. But he was secretly mollified. Somewhat. Viktor, the fucking primadonna, had used up all the hot water during more than one competition over the years, so getting to take a shower first was a way bigger win than it might appear on the surface.

The Russian teen stalked into the room, heaving his tiger stripe skate bag and cheetah emblazoned suitcase onto one of the beds and then flopping onto the other bed before anyone could stop him. He slipped off his leopard print converses and tossed them into the corner. "I want to order in."

"Not until after the competition," Viktor singsonged, pushing open the bathroom door.

Yuri snapped upright and sprang from the bed with all the power normally reserved for his quad sals, but it was too late. Humming to himself, Viktor closed the door in the sixteen-year old's face.

"Goddamn it!" Yuri snarled in Russian, giving the door a kick. Inside, Viktor turned on the shower.

Yuuri fixed the younger skater with that apologetic smile again. "Want to go visit the pool?" He glanced fondly at the closed door, from which Viktor's humming voice rose both louder and higher. And more and more off key. "He will be a while."

Yuri sank back onto the bed, flopping onto his belly with a huff. "No, I'm taking a nap," he growled, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket.

And he would sleep. After he burned the so-called "Russian Legend" on Twitter.

"Enjoy your lame win, Nikiforov," he muttered, fingers dancing over the touchscreen like his skates over the ice. He ignored Yuuri as the Japanese skater carefully moved Yuri's things to the ground and sat on the other bed to start untying his shoes. "It'll be your only victory this Grand Prix Final." He flicked a glance at Yuuri. "For either of you."

In the bathroom, the Russian figure skating legend stopped humming and started singing beneath the hiss of the shower.

* * *

Cloud was not a weakling in truth. Really, he wasn't. It was not his fault that he mysteriously lost his voice every time General Sephiroth spoke to him. Or so much as flicked green, cat-slitted eyes in his direction. Both of which he was doing now.

"So, how does it feel to be home after all this time?" the silver-haired SOLDIER General asked the infantryman they walked toward the inn in Nibelheim, where they had been assigned to investigate monster incursions near the mountainous region's mako reactor. "I have no hometown; I wouldn't know."

Cloud managed to swallow the knot that had lodged itself in his suddenly dry throat and would certainly have offered an insightful, but also cool and casual reply.

That is, if Zack had not butted in.

"Uh, what about family?" the black-haired SOLDIER first class asked.

Zack may have been his superior officer, but that didn't stop Cloud from shooting his friend a glare. Which Zack utterly missed, of course, as Cloud's face was currently covered by what had to be the hottest regulation helmet on Gaia. He could feel the sweat streaming down his face and dampening the kerchief around his neck.

Sephiroth, apparently not bothered by Zack's rather rude interruption, replied, "My mother's name is Jenova. She died shortly after I was born. My father-" He laughed bitterly, rubbing his forehead. "Why am I talking about this?" He shook his head and turned back toward the inn. "Come on. Let's go," he said, once again the General, all business.

Cloud sighed, following in his wake and berating himself internally. He'd had a chance to talk to Sephiroth, to have a real conversation with the man whose fighting prowess and heroism had inspired him to pursue a career in Shinra Power Company and try to prove himself worthy of becoming a mako-enhanced SOLDIER, and he'd blown it.

"Are you one of the SOLDIER people who've come to investigate?"

Cloud stiffened in shock at the familiar voice, and once again could not have uttered a word to save his life.

Fortunately for him, Tifa, his childhood friend, was not talking to him but to Zack.

_Of course_, Cloud thought bitterly as his black-haired friend answered in the affirmative, grateful for the helmet hiding his own face. He was nowhere near ready to talk to her. _You're not a SOLDIER, idiot. You had your chance and you messed it up. You're a failure_.

"Are there a lot of soldier first classes?" Tifa asked.

"Nope, we're a small, elite group," Zack said proudly.

She frowned. "They only sent two?"

The black-haired soldier nodded. "Yeah, me and Sephiroth."

Cloud grimaced, standing stiffly at attention. What was he, invisible? He may not have been a SOLDIER, not even a third class, but still, Shinra had sent him on this mission too, and two other infantrymen as well.

But at least Tifa wouldn't know he was here. He wouldn't be able to bear to see the look on her face if she saw him in his regulation infantry uniform instead of SOLDIER black, like Zack and the other first classes.

His attention returned to Tifa as his childhood friend murmured lowly in disappointment and ran off.

Zack watched her go. "Weird girl."

Inside, Cloud cringed. She wasn't weird. She was just unhappy. He'd promised to become a SOLDIER and return home to Nibelheim to help her if the town was ever in trouble, and now there were monsters coming down from the mountains and, as far as she knew, he wasn't here. Of course, he had come, but not as Zack's equal, capable of helping defend the town. He'd let Tifa down.

"We depart for the reactor at dawn," Sephiroth said. "Make sure to get plenty of sleep. Only one of you needs to keep watch. Make sure you get some rest as well."

Cloud nodded, eager to find his bed after the long and difficult trip to Nibelheim, but as he approached the inn door, Sephiroth paused.

Cloud froze, mouth instantly going dry. _Oh Gaia, he's looking at me.  
_  
"Ah, that's right," his commanding officer said. "You have permission to go visit family and friends, if you so wish."

The General took his leave, and Zack turned to Cloud. "Nibelheim, huh?" he asked slowly. His tone was knowing. "Why are you wearing the mask?"

Cloud knew better than to hope that his friend would think that the visor was regulation. This wasn't their first mission together, and while there were certainly dragons in the area-one had attacked their transport truck-it wasn't like the enemy was descending from the sky this instant. There was no need for a helmet. And Zack knew it.

"It's... personal" the sixteen-year-old infantryman said after a moment.

"Weirdo."

Cloud sighed. He was. He really was. A weirdo, and a weakling, and a failure.

But though he was all those things, but he was going to at least be well rested tomorrow and do his duty. "I'm going to get some sleep," he declared, striding purposefully into the inn. "You rooming with me?"

"You bet, buddy!" Zack said, all eager bounce and puppy energy.

And he called Cloud the weirdo.

* * *

Viktor may have managed to hog all the hot water the night before, but Yuri sure as hell wasn't going to let the self-absorbed, absent-minded dinosaur of a skater get in there first the next morning as well.

And so it was that he found himself cursing unhappily into his pillow as the alarm clock chiming through his cell phone ear buds woke him at four in the morning.

He may have missed out on a couple hours of sleep, sure. But for perhaps the first time in all of his years of being stuck rooming with Viktor during competitions, he was able to enjoy a deliciously hot shower without worrying that it might suddenly run cold, and could go through the daily ritual of straightening his obnoxiously gravity-defiant hair in peace and quiet.

Chin length golden locks tamed at last, he yanked his black hoodie over his head and stalked toward the hotel door with a sly glance over his shoulder at Yuuri and Viktor, who were snoring away in their bed. They wouldn't be up for another two hours at least. Plenty of time for him to have a nice leisurely jog around Barcelona, music blasting in his ears without Lilia around to scold him about his hearing, before anyone realized he was unsupervised and at large in a foreign city.

Of course, he should have remembered his fans.

Sometimes, though he'd never admit it out loud, he was rather proud of the feral bastards, with their ridiculous cat ears and obsession with hunting him down like a pack of hungry tigers. But that was when he was dealing with the Yuri's Angels from the privacy-and safety-of home, perhaps watching them throw down for him on Twitter or make the evening news for attacking some hockey fan in a sports bar brawl over control of the television. He appreciated them as true badasses then. From a distance.

But when he spotted a pack of them fucking _camping_ out across the street from his hotel, in tiger stripe tents no less, all he felt was fear. Especially as his blue-green eyes met the bleary gaze of their goddamn _guard_ over the rim of the Japanese-looking girl's streaming thermos of coffee or tea or whatever the hell half-rabid cheetah women drank at five in the morning.

Good God, could that chick run. No sooner had their eyes met, she was tossing that thermos aside with a gleeful shout to wake her fellow stalkers and springing from her lawn chair after him.

He was a world class athlete and, arguably, the best male figure skater in the world. Running was a regular part of his training. There was no way some random fan should have been able to keep up with him, and yet within seconds, she was actually _gaining_ on him.

There was no Otabek and his motorcycle to rescue him this year. There was only a pack of guys and girls in tiger print and leopard ears rapidly closing the distance between them, cameras flashing and sharpies extended like claws. Cheetah Woman was in the lead, but the others were unreasonably fast too.

God, had an entire track team joined Yuri's Angels together? What the actual fuck?

He barely had time to contemplate the question and his possible fate before he darted into the first alley he saw and spotted a low fence. Without thinking, he vaulted over it, one hand gripping the bar as he threw his legs and entire body up and over.

He realized his mistake an instant later as his eyes settled on the street below him. _Way _more below him than he'd expected, the fence apparently more like a railing to protect way clumsier people than him from doing exactly what he was doing and falling into a fucking city street at five in the morning less than four days before he was supposed to skate in the Grand Prix Final.

He was lucky he was last year's gold medalist and used to landing crazy jumps. But it was one thing to land that kind of jump on ice in figure skates like he'd done literally thousands of times before, and quite another to land on pavement in a pair of converses. Especially while doing his best to come down between the two cars parked on the side of the street below him and not on the hood of one or back windshield of the other.

Fortunately, he managed to land mostly on both feet on the ground between them. Unfortunately, _mostly_ on two feet wasn't good enough, as his right ankle turned. Years of training helped him twist sideways to check his momentum and prevent his full weight from coming down wrong on the joint, which was good. But it also swung his weight hard the other direction, which wasn't so good.

As the side of his head slammed into the wall, the loud crack of skull meeting brick resounded loudly in the morning air. Blinding white light flared through his vision as he bounced off the hard surface and folded to his knees, the pain barely registering as white faded rapidly into black and he collapsed onto his back on the pavement.

The last things he saw, dimly, were the pack of bloodthirsty fans running past the alleyway above, thankfully oblivious to his mortifying plight below. All but one, that was.

A familiar form broke away from the rest, dark eyes glinting and looking right at him before Cheetah Woman was hopping the railing with a nimbleness that would have put him to shame if he'd been able to summon enough brains to care and landing in a low crouch that would have left him terrified if he hadn't promptly lost consciousness.

He must not have been out for long, because suddenly she was kneeling at his side. "Yurio!"

Yuri-goddammit, his name was Yuri-couldn't manage to remember a single word in Japanese. So instead he muttered in Russian, in as surly a voice as he could manage, "Fuck... you." He did _not_ whimper out the words, damn it! There was no way he'd willingly show any weakness in front of a predator.

"God, I'm so sorry!" she said. Her voice was too loud. "The others are gone now, though." She smiled proudly. "I outran them."

"Good... for you," he muttered, only belatedly realizing she was speaking Russian with a native accent despite her Japanese appearance and use of the hated nickname Yuuri's sister had dubbed him with.

She frowned, brow furrowing. "Alright, we should get you back to your hotel before the others think to head that way." And then she was pulling his arm carefully over her shoulder and levering him to his feet with surprising strength for someone so petite.

Yuri lost track of what, exactly, came next. Later, he would have disjointed memories of blinding pain in his head, puking in an intersection all over his leopard print converses, and weaving madly on his feet despite the supportive arm around his waist and the shoulder he was leaning on, as though he was a goddamn drunk toddler instead of last year's Grand Prix Final gold medalist.

Eventually he felt his back come to rest against something, and through the ruining ringing in his ears heard the girl say something about "hotel" and "key card".

"H-hey," he complained weakly, slapping at her hand as she pawed at his hoodie pockets. What, was she a thief as well as a stalker and Olympic track star? "G'off."

"Here," she said, slapping something cool and smooth into one of his hands and then something smaller into the other.

He squinted down at them, relieved that his vision was starting to clear now that they were no longer moving. He glanced up from his cell phone and key card to the door of the building they were leaning against.

They were back at the hotel.

His eyes darted nervously across the street, but the Cheetah Pack camp was still deserted. Thank God.

Fingers snapped in front of his face. "Earth to Yurio!"

"That's not my name!" he snarled, pushing her hand away. Fury burned the remaining fog from his vision and mind.

She pointed at the doors. "Can you get the rest of the way back on your own?" Dark brown eyes darted over her shoulder. "I hear them coming."

Sure enough, footsteps were pounding on the pavement. Alarmed, Yuri jerked away from the wall and sprang for the door, weaving on his feet but managing to make it inside just as the first of his rabid fans rounded the corner, screaming in delight and pointing as he spotted the dazed and terrified skater.

"It was awesome meeting you!" the girl called after him. "I'm Tiffany, by the way. Call me!"

And the doors slid shut.

Yuri paused in the lobby, panting and looking from the alarmed security guard at the door, who moved quickly to step outside and intercept the crowd, to the disapproving woman behind the front desk, who took in his vomit-splattered shoes and swaying stance with a scowl. He wouldn't be the first skater to party hard before buckling down for a competition.

Glaring and just now truly noticing the soreness in his knees and right ankle against the sickening agony of his headache, Yuri hobbled carefully toward the elevator and jabbed the blurry "up" button.

Creeping back into the blessedly darkened hotel room five minutes later, he had never been so happy to hear Viktor's and Yuuri's snoring duet. There was no way he felt like trying to explain anything to the two morons yet, or really doing anything other than sleep.

Which he wasted no time doing, all but collapsing dizzily into bed.

He had just enough time to place his spinning, aching skull on his pillow and drag his blankets up over himself before he was out again like a light.

* * *

Zack may have been a mako infused SOLDIER first class, able to get by on significantly less sleep than an un-enhanced human, but despite his best efforts, Cloud certainly was not. Well rested or not, 0400 came far too early for his liking, and he was still trying to wake fully by the time he and the others gathered at dawn.

Cloud was so busy glaring blearily at Zack's faintly glowing blue eyes from behind his helmet that he nearly missed their surprise guest as they approached the gates of the mansion at the base of the mountain in which Shinra's Nibelheim reactor was situated. Zack, however, spotted her immediately.

"Tifa! You're our guide?" His voice was not happy.

Cloud started, glancing the way Zack was looking, and sure enough, there she was. His childhood friend had even brought a cameraman, no doubt to snap a few photos for use in her father's re-election campaign. Cloud could see the headline now. "Monsters in the mountains: Mayor Lockhart demands Shinra Power Company clean up its mess".

He watched in growing pleasure and dismay as Tifa posed for a few photos with Zack and Sephiroth and convinced the General to let her be their guide to the reactor. While it was good to see her again and spend time with her-even if she didn't notice him and wouldn't have known who the helmeted infantry grunt was even if she had-he couldn't help but share Zack's concerns. Tifa was every bit as much a wilderness expert as anyone else in Nibelheim, and a gifted martial artist besides. But if she and the other townspeople had been able to safely deal with the monster threat on their own, her father would not have called in Shinra, let alone two SOLDIER firsts and infantry support. Cloud had a strong suspicion that her father had no idea she was here. After all, it wasn't like Sephiroth would have asked the mayor to provide a local guide. The General had brought his own.

Cloud.

But there wasn't really anything he could do about it. Not without revealing himself and possibly invoking Tifa's formidable wrath for interfering. And not without arguing against Sephiroth's instructions after the General approved her and her publicity man to accompany them. Maybe he wanted the good publicity too?

Cloud broke away from his sleepy, troubled musings as Sephiroth gave the order to move out, and cursed himself internally. He was supposed to be paying attention, not wool gathering. Why couldn't he do anything right?

Over the next several hours, they proceeded up the mountain road to the reactor, encountering glowing blue-green mako springs and pumps along the way, as well as dragons and other monsters. In truth, there wasn't terribly much for Cloud to do other than stay out of the way, but as always, it was amazing to see Zack and Sephiroth in action. They cut down each monster with a speed, grace, and power that would have been chilling if it had not been so beautiful. Like they were dancing with blades, Zack's heavy buster sword darting and flying through each battle with nearly the finesse of Sephiroth's long and lightweight katana, Masamune, though the younger SOLDIER refrained from using it to actually slice anything, preferring instead to bludgeon his foes.

"Stay back," his friend cautioned as they reached the reactor and the last beast fell beneath his blade. "It's just knocked out. It could wake up and stay chowing down on you!"

Cloud rolled his eyes, pushing away the ache of yearning he always felt whenever he watched Zack and especially Sephiroth fight. Once, that burning heaviness in his gut had been drive and inspiration. Now it was only jealousy and shame. He would never be a SOLDIER. He'd tried and failed to get through the cadet program. He was weak, a nobody. Just a faceless infantry grunt even his best friend didn't recognize or even notice. And why would she?

As they began to climb the stairs to the reactor's reinforced doorway, Tifa moved to follow, exclaiming, "I want to go inside and look, too!"

Cloud frowned, but thankfully Sephiroth denied her request this time. "This is a top-secret facility," the silver-haired General explained, shaking his head. "Non-Shinra personnel are not permitted inside."

"But...!" she protested.

Cloud hid a small smile. She really did not like it when she didn't get her way. It was bratty. And kind of cute.

His smile soon turned to a frown as Sephiroth turned to him. "Keep the young lady safe."

"Wha-" Cloud sputtered, but thankfully his superior officer either didn't hear his protest, or more likely chose not to notice. "Great," he muttered under his breath, stepping in Tifa's way and motioning for her to halt as, never one to take "no" for an answer, she tried to follow the pair of SOLDIERs as they proceeded up the stairs and went inside.

He shook his head sternly at her as she glared at the closing doors, then at him, and snorted when she stomped her foot and turned her back on him, clearly pissed. Let her be pissed. He was pissed too. Normally he would be thrilled, proud even, to have General Sephiroth tell him to protect Tifa, but Gaia! He would be in there with Zack and Sephiroth, not stuck out here with Tifa, if it weren't for her inviting herself along!

Several minutes passed in frosty silence as Tifa sulked and Cloud... well, he did not sulk, certainly. His anger was justified.

"Say," Tifa said, whirling around so quickly that Cloud's fellow infantrymen twitched in surprise, fingers tightening on their rifles. "How well do you two know the Shinra SOLDIERs?"

Grey Sanders shrugged, watchful hazel eyes still fixed on their surroundings, scanning dutifully for threats. "We work in the same complex and are sometimes assigned to work together. I know a few of 'em well enough." He shrugged.

"Not personally though, really," Eli Marshal added, shifting his rifle from hand to hand as he often did when bored. It was a bad habit their drill sergeant had never been able to beat out of him. "They're... different. Like, really different. Most keep to themselves. Except Fair. Zack. He likes everyone. Doesn't care about rank."

Cloud chuckled to himself. Zack cared. He definitely cared, when it came to his relatively new status as a First. But it was true he didn't care about others' ranks or affiliations. SOLDIER. Infantry. Even Turk. He had friends everywhere.

His quiet laugh drew Tifa's attention. "How about you?"

"Me?" he asked, forgetting briefly that he was trying not to draw her attention to him.

Thankfully, she didn't seem to recognize his voice. "Do you know anyone in SOLDIER?" He shrugged and nodded. Her face brightened. "You seem to be friends with that First. Zack? Do you happen to know someone named Cloud Strife? He went to Midgar to join SOLDIER not too long ago."

Oh Gaia.

"Strife? Strife is-" Eli cut himself off at Cloud's stern glare. "He... uh..."

"We don't know anyone by that name," Grey said coolly, still not looking away from the trees except to cast a quick glance at Cloud out of the corner of his eye. The younger infantryman breathed a sigh of relief. They'd have questions later, he was sure, but they had his back.

"Oh," Tifa said, wilting. "Well if you ever run into him, will you tell him-"

They had almost no warning at all, such was the speed and power of a fully enhanced SOLDIER First, let alone one of the Three. The only sign that anything was awry was the sudden opening of the reactor door, far earlier than they would have expected Zack and Sephiroth to return from inspecting reactor to locate the suspected malfunction that had led to the monster outbreak in Nibelheim.

But it was an entirely different SOLDIER first class who emerged, expertly taking in the scene in a single contemptuous glance before lifting his crimson rapier before his face and running his fingers along the blade. Crimson energy crackled along the steel, igniting glyphs.

"Oh Gaia, that's-" Eli gasped, rifle snapping up as he sighted the winged man in his scope.

"Genesis!" Cloud confirmed grimly, stepping in front of Tifa as the red-haired deserter, apparently not dead after all despite having fallen into the core of the mako reactor in Modeoheim, swept the blade toward them.

From within the reactor, he barely heard Zack's labored voice shout, "No, stop!" before the fireball exploded in his face.

Cloud's head snapped back with the devastating blow as fire flared crimson through the visor of his helmet. His legs gave out and he crumpled to his knees in shock and pain and then, strength and consciousness alike fleeing, abruptly felt his whole body fall limp and could not stop himself from toppling bonelessly sideways and onto his back.

As everything rapidly grew shadowed around him and a roar grew in his ears, he dimly saw Tifa, Eli, and Grey fall into fighting stances above him. And then blackness swallowed him whole.

When he came to again, he knew that the battle must have gone in their favor, because... well, because he returned to consciousness at all, frankly. Not many who passed out the moment battle commenced could claim the same.

His eyes cracked open slightly, and through his lashes he could just make out Tifa kneeling at his side. Her face was worried, and confused, and he realized that he was still wearing his helmet. A good thing too, because it felt like his brain would dribble out of his skull without it.

"He tried to protect me," she told a blurry but still clearly exhausted figure in black swimming at the edge of his vision.

"I know," Zack said lowly through the white noise ringing in his ears. "Tifa, stay close to me."

Cloud groaned miserably as she pulled his arm over her shoulder and maneuvered him carefully to his feet.

With their first step, he lost time, vision black once more, ears ringing madly, and belly churning as his friends guided him somewhere his body really, really did not want to go.

But eventually the sense of motion stopped. Voices warbled in his ears again as though through water as his head cleared a tiny bit, and he felt a wooden wall against his back and did his best to lean against it and remain standing, rather than collapsing.

It took a heroic amount of effort, and after a time he wasn't really even sure if he was successful or not, because when he was next aware, he found himself lying on a mattress back at the inn with Zack sitting on the bed next to his own, watching over him as he apparently slowly regained consciousness.

His helmet had been removed and, though slightly dizzy and more than a little exhausted, he found himself able to sit up without too much trouble. His friend must have healed him.

Cloud rested his head on his knees with a tired groan.

"Tifa's safe," Zack murmured immediately. "Don't worry."

Cloud glanced over at his friend, swallowing miserably as the shame crashed over him anew. "If only I were SOLDIER," he said, the memory of how quickly and easily Genesis had taken him out replaying sickeningly in his memory.

Zack didn't respond, and a long moment passed.

Cloud glanced at him. Zack?"

"SOLDIER is like a den of monsters," the First said lowly. "Don't go inside."

Realizing he was clearly missing something, Cloud asked, "What happened?" His memory of almost everything after Genesis's attack felt like a black hole. And what had Zack and Sephiroth seen inside the reactor?

For a moment, Zack looked utterly dejected and sighed. "I don't know, man. I thought I knew, but…"

Cloud snorted internally. That was classic Zack for "it's confidential and confusing, so I don't even know what to say". Followed by a quick change of subject, he was sure-

The First flopped backward onto his bed with a long sigh. "By the way, do you know Tifa?"

Ah, there it was.

Groaning internally, Cloud turned away, clasping his knees in embarrassment. "Sort of."

"Talked to her?"

Gaia, he wanted to discuss this even less than Zack wanted to talk about whatever had happened at the reactor to leave them both alive but his friend so down. "No."

At that, Zack sat up slowly, all attention suddenly on him. Great. "I'm sensing some issues here," he said, voice low and concerned. "Shouldn't you do something?"

Cloud wilted, because yes, he should, but Gaia knew he'd fail at it like everything else.

"I'm one to talk," Zack said quietly after a moment. He rose and walked toward his buster sword, which was propped up on the table opposite their beds. "I'm with SOLDIER, so fighting's all I do. Sorting things out is someone else's job. What's going on? Who's the enemy? It makes no difference to me!"

Cloud watched him, blue eyes widening in alarm as the First's voice rose, and his sword with it, lifted high over his head. Cloud had rarely seen his friend so worked up. The normally cheerful and laid-back SOLDIER was gritting his teeth and breathing hard, clearly struggling to get his emotions under control as he brought the sword in front of him and rested his forehead on the blade, shoulders heaving.

"Hey, Zack?" he asked tentatively, hoping to give the black-haired man something new to think about. The First liked to talk about the buster sword and the man who'd given it to him, his recently killed mentor, Angeal. "You know, I've never seen you use that."

At his words, Zack looked thoughtful, lifting the sword to peer at it "This is a symbol of my dreams and honor," he said slowly. "No, it's more. That's right, I had almost forgotten. Thank you, Cloud."

Cloud blinked, even more confused now than before. Maybe he wasn't completely healed yet from his head injury after all, because nothing Zack had just said made any sense to him. "Huh?"

Zack, snapping back to his energetic self again so quickly that it almost made Cloud dizzy, put the sword down and said enthusiastically, "Right!" He walked to the side of his bed, swinging his arms and dipping in two quick squats before hopping onto the mattress and stretching out on his back. "I'm gonna crash. Night!"

And with that, he threw his arms out to the sides and fell instantly asleep, leaving Cloud staring at him in utter confusion.

What on Gaia had *happened* back at the reactor?

Cloud sighed, laying down much more gingerly than his friend, fatigue tugging at him the way it sometimes did after an intense healing. He might as well get some shut eye, too. He certainly wasn't going to get anything more out of Zack tonight, and who knew what the next day would bring? He didn't even know how their mission had gone, but there was little he could do about it now, and his body was clearly still recovering, achy and exhausted. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost as fast as his superior officer and friend.

* * *

Strands of awareness and intention threaded through the multiverse, seeing, seeking.

She could not sense the other worlds in her own universe, though the life her hostworld bore spoke of other planets now and again, so she knew that they were there, and possibly other beings like herself as well. But if there were other lifestreams on other hostworlds, she could not feel them, could not commune with them as she could feel and commune with her many sisters, each one dwelling in a discrete universe that bore the local version of their hostworld.

Her consciousness brushed over her many sisters, one after another, each as unique as the universe that bore her, until she found one who seemed to be a good candidate. Threatened, but strong. Dying, but still so full of life. In grave danger, but still hopeful. She was perfect.

"Sister?" the one called Aether communed across space and time.

Her sister, Minerva, responded almost immediately, already sampling her intentions, her hope. _Their_ hope and salvation now, as Minerva's consent echoed back to Aether, for they were both so threatened, and both so strong. A good match. Perfect.

"Oh, yes," Minerva agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Yurio?"

Agony spiked through his head, snapping him out of blissful, painless sleep.

Scrunching his face up in discomfort, he groaned unhappily as some _asshole s_hook him again, sending a fresh wave of pain and nausea through him.

"Yurio?"

God, what had he done? Yuri had only drunk to excess once in his life, and the consequences the next morning had felt rather like this.

But he'd sworn vodka off forever, the nasty stuff, and didn't remember any party, or honestly much of anything, and _who the hell kept shaking him?_

"Come on now... Yurio?"

Ah, Katsudon. The identity of the voice was confirmed a moment later as Viktor's own annoyingly cheerful-and far too loud-voice followed Yuuri's, bouncing through the younger Russian's skull like an over eager puppy in a china shop. "Ah, I found the source of the smell! Ew, I hope the hotel has a laundry room. Though, why did he throw up all over his shoes? He likes these shoes..."

"Never mind that," Yuuri said, accented voice low and worried. "Vitya, I'm having trouble getting him to wake."

"What?" Footsteps padded near, quiet but hurried, and hands grasped his shoulders. "Let me try."

The bed dipped as a weight sank onto it. And then Yuri's eyes snapped open as his head _exploded_.

"Yurochka? Come now. Heeey, Yura. Yuri! Yuuuurioooo! Wakey wake-"

Yuri meant to open his mouth and tell Viktor to stop shaking him and fuck off. And maybe he'd cut the man with his knife shoes while at it. Or at least he'd let the idiot know that he was awake and that Viktor could stop manhandling him now.

Instead, the moment the older Russian hauled him upright and gave him a firm shake, the blond promptly vomited in Viktor's lap.

It wasn't the most embarrassing thing he'd ever done. The gold medal for that still went to the time when, two years ago, he'd split his chin open after falling on a single toeloop of all things, because he'd sneezed just as he was preparing to push off his pick, done a pirouette en pointe instead of jumping, and tumbled to the ground about as gracefully as a damn recreational skater. Mila had insisted on mocking him for it for two solid months.

But puking on Viktor was a close second.

The Russian Legend looked down at himself, then at Yuri, then down at himself again. "Oh... my..."

"M'... ugh... aw-wake," Yuri managed, aborting another gag with a mortifying burp instead.

"I... uh... I..." Viktor shuddered, two fingertips plucking at the fabric of his pajama bottoms to lift the mess as far from his skin as he could without touching anything. And then he was rising to his feet and hurrying to the bathroom.

Yuuri and Yuri stared at one another for a moment as the door shut and, a couple seconds later, the shower started running.

"Well, you're obviously not yourself." The older skater helped him lie back down, keen brown eyes taking in his hoodie and straightened hair. "Did you sneak out and go drinking last night?" Katsudon's voice was firm, demanding an honest answer, but held no judgment.

Had he? Yuri took a moment to simply breathe through his nose and try to remember. He'd sworn off all alcohol, especially vodka, after Georgi had slipped him a bottle for his sixteenth birthday. And now, instead of vodka, he dimly remembered... running for his life? Cheetahs? Throwing up on his shoes? Something about his cell phone and key card?

_Call me!_

"N-no," he said, inhaling slowly as his disastrous attempt at an early morning jog came back to him in bits and pieces. He continued speaking when his belly chose to stay where it belonged. "I just went out for a run, and..."

He trailed off. And what? And suffered a humiliating defeat in an unplanned race against a pack of his own rabid fans? And cracked his head against a brick wall so hard that he clearly had a concussion?

There was no way in hell he was admitting any of that. Not only was it pathetic and embarrassing, but admitting it would probably result in a hospital visit, and there was no chance that Yakov would let him anywhere near a rink, let alone the Grand Prix Final, with a head injury.

"And?" Yuuri prompted, eyes concerned.

Yuri glanced away. And not in guilt. It wouldn't be a lie, exactly. And even if it was, he didn't owe Katsudon anything. "And I started feeling sick," he said. He'd just keep it to the simple truth. "Came back here."

"Okay," Yuuri said after studying him for a moment. "Well, I will give Yakov a call and let him know that you are not feeling well and won't be at the rink today. Do you have a fever?" He did not wait for a response, instead pressing his hand to Yuri's aching forehead until the younger skater's death glare made him reconsider his poor life choices with a nervous chuckle. "Well you, erm, don't feel warm yet, at least. Do you want one of us to stay here with you?"

And have them fuss over him and watch him like a hawk until he accidentally gave something away? He didn't think so.

"Nyet. It's just a stomach bug." Which was sort of the same as possible brain damage and the world's worst headache. "I'll be fine."

"Hmm... alright," Yuuri agreed after a moment of hesitation. "But I want you to call if you need anything or feel worse." He offered a gentle smile. "We want you better in time for the competition, right?"

He hated to think of how much ice time this was going to cost him, but he could feel even without getting out of bed that gliding around in skates right now would be a bad idea. He only hoped that he would indeed be better in time for the competition. He had four days. Four days of babying himself like a pathetic loser, sure, but it was for a good cause if it would allow him to recover and return to top form as soon as possible. He had another gold to claim, after all.

"Alright," he agreed unhappily.

Yuuri let him be for a while as Viktor showered, bustling around the hotel room getting dressed in his customary blue trainer, transferring his skates from his suitcase to his transpack and speaking quietly on the phone for a while.

Yuri tuned him out, half drowsing and wishing his head would stop pounding to the beat of his heart, when he heard the Japanese skater chuckle quietly.

"Ah, no, sir, he's not faking. Yes, sir, I'm sure. No... by 'he's sick', I mean he just threw up all over Viktor."

Yuri grimaced at the reminder, and Yuuri cast him a gentle smile as there was a long pause on the other end of the line. And then the older skater was nodding as Yakov's voice resumed buzzing through the speaker

"Yes sir, I'll be sure to keep him away from Viktor and the others. Yes. Yes, of course I have a mask..." With one hand, he started fiddling around with his suitcase, glancing apologetically at Yuri as he pulled out one of those medical face masks he seemed to always be wearing in public places, like airports. "No sir, I do not think I'll have much luck getting Viktor to wear one." He held the phone away from his ear as Yakov's voice rose in volume, slightly audible rant now going off on something about Viktor never doing what he was told. "I know sir, I know."

Yuri ignored him, snuggling down into his covers with a wince as his head protested even that gentle motion. He dozed in fits and starts as the idiot couple bustled about getting ready to head to the Barcelona rink for a few hours of practice. He jolted awake as the bathroom door slammed open and Viktor asked how he was from the safety of the other side of the room, Yuuri's softer voice answering for him. Then woke again as there came a knock on the door and, shortly after, Yuuri placed something on the nightstand with a quiet clink of porcelain. Then woke again as the hotel door closed and, at _last_, silence descended.

His phone rang.

"Ahhh!" he howled, half in sheer frustration and pain, and half in surprise.

That certainly wasn't his ringtone. He didn't even have a ringtone, but instead always kept the device on vibrate.

It definitely wasn't on vibrate now. And he'd _certainly_ not been the one to choose "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" as a ringtone.

"What the hell!?" he snapped the instant he accepted the call, not even bothering to look at the caller ID. The screen was way too bright for his throbbing head.

There was an audible sigh of relief before a girl's voice crowed in Russian, "Yurio! You're awake!"

"Who the hell is this?" It wasn't Mila; the voice was too high. And Lilia did not call; she made Yakov do so for her, or worse, waited until she saw you in person to deliver her terse criticism and instructions.

"Tiffany. Remember?"

It took him a moment, but soon it came back to him. Cheetah Woman. "Unfortunately," he growled.

"I told you to call me."

He closed his eyes and rested gingerly back against his pillow. "Why would I call you?"

"You don't remember?" Her voice sounded worried now. "This was, like, two hours ago."

"I was _sleeping_." Which he desperately wanted to get back to right away.

"No!" He winced as she squawked in his ear. "I told you that you can't sleep. Not with a head injury. And I said to call me when you got to your room so that I would know that you're alright."

"I'm fine. Now leave me alone." He was about to end the call when he heard the last words he ever wanted to hear from the stalker.

"I'm at your door."

"_What?!_"

"Well, the hotel door, anyway. They won't let me come up unless you call the front desk to confirm it's okay."

He scoffed. "Like hell am I letting you up. In fact, if you try to come up, I'll call the police."

"Hmm," she hummed. "Let me up, or I'll call Yakov and tell him that you're hurt."

He gasped and his heart skipped a beat before he remembered. "Yeah, nice try. You don't even know his number."

"I do know his number," she replied calmly. "And Yuuri's and Viktor's, too. I probably could have looked up your doctor, and nutritionist, and choreographer in your contacts too while I was at it if I hadn't been too busy programming your ringtone to make sure you'd wake up whenever I called."

"What the hell?!" When had that even happened? Damn this head injury!

"I was going to call once an hour, but I decided that keeping an eye on you in person is be better."

Oh, dear God. Why did his fan club attract all the batshit crazy ones? "I'm fine. You don't need to keep an eye on me, or call, or say anything to my coach. Just leave me alone."

"You are not fine. You lost consciousness. Threw up. Can't remember anything. Haven't the sense to stay awake with a head injury."

"I-"

"And the second most important competition of the season is four days away," she went on. That gave him pause. "It's my fault you're hurt. You think I'm going to let you just go out there and skate with a head injury without doing what I can to help you recover? You could die-"

He swallowed. Worse, he could _lose_.

"-if you do too much, too soon. Someone needs to keep an eye on you, someone who knows what happened. Since, judging by how you reacted when I mentioned calling your coach, I'm guessing you haven't told anyone anything."

"Fuck." Yuri held the phone away from his face, jabbing a finger at the screen to end the call. A moment later he fumbled for the clunky hotel phone and called the front desk. "There's a girl waiting outside with security," he growled in English, hoping the employee spoke the language. It was that, or Russian. "Tiffany. She can come up, I guess."

"Right away... Mr. Plisetsky." He could hear the disapproval dripping from the woman's voice and realized what this probably looked like, especially after arriving back at the hotel earlier that morning looking like someone who had partied too hard.

He hung up the phone. "Fuck!"

The blond cast a quick glance around the room, hoping there wouldn't be anything in sight he didn't want a fan to see. Who knew what the stalker might try to put up on Instagram?

Luckily, his clothes from his shower that morning were tucked away in a laundry bag. He wouldn't put it past this Tiffany chick to try to steal a pair of boxers or something gross like that.

A knock sounded on his door, and he grumbled, dragging himself from bed and trudging his way to open it. He didn't feel dizzy, exactly. Just nauseous and lightheaded. And he was pretty sure that he could feel every vessel in his brain at once, throbbing with his pulse as his blood boiled with fury.

"Well, you look like crap," Tiffany greeted him the moment he threw open the door.

"Fuck you," he shot over his shoulder, heading straight back to bed. "And shut that. The hallway's too bright."

"That's because you bashed your brains in," she pointed out unhelpfully. But at least she was quiet for a few blessed moments as she shut the door, casting the room once more into darkness except for the dim light from the bathroom around the corner. "And I'm sorry, but you do look awful. All... pasty and white." She frowned at him.

He scoffed, climbing back under the covers. "I'm naturally pale. Some fan you are."

Her grin was almost predatory. "I have over one thousand photos of you, Yurio. I know what you normally look like."

"Okay... creepy..." He muttered. But as his aching head settled back against the pillows, he couldn't really bring himself to care. Worrying took energy, and he was exhausted.

"Ah ah!" she called, obnoxious voice too loud in his ears. He cracked his eyes open and fixed her with his best death glare. "No sleeping!"

"Lemme alone!" he snapped.

"No. Questions first. Then you can sleep. For, like, an hour or two, stupid."

He peered at her with suspicion. "What questions? I don't want to give you some private interview..."

She rolled her eyes. "Really, give me some credit. You're hurt."

He relaxed, slightly. Sleep tugged at him.

"I will wait till you are not half dying to get my autographs and selfies and stuff." She ignored his surly glare. "Now, the questions I found online."

"What the hell ques-"

"First, what's your name?"

He yanked his covers up over his face. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"Name?"

"Yuri Plisetsky," he ground out.

"Where are you?"

He breathed in a calming inhale, reminding himself that killing fans was generally frowned upon in the figure skating world. "Hotel. Barcelona."

"And what happened?"

It was also hard to win gold from prison. "You chased me into the street," he growled, "and probably cost me the competition."

"And what year is it?"

"1915."

"What?"

"What?"

She was silent for a long while, and he tugged his blanket over his face and almost drifted off a moment later. But then the covers were ripped back from his head.

"Leave me alone!" he shrieked, not caring that it hurt his head.

"Temper temper," she mumbled, but her expression was concerned. "Are you messing with me?"

"No," he snapped. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

"Because unless you have some special time traveling ability I'm not aware of, it's 2015, not 1915."

He just stared at her. What the hell was she talking about? This was all too stupid and exhausting and damn confusing to bother with.

She sighed. "Okay, I have a baseline, so now you can sleep. For a little while."

His relief almost made him dizzy. Or maybe that was the concussion. Either way, his eyes snapped shut.

He heard the sound of a camera before he drifted off but couldn't find it in himself to care as he sank into sleep.

When he next woke, it was to something shaking his arm and then the camera sound again as he whined, "Whaaat?"

She hid something behind her back. "Name?"

They went through the stupid questions again, and this time, at least, she seemed pleased with his answers before she let him sleep again.

Only to force him awake two hours later, this time pointing at the nightstand after bombarding him with her questions.

"By the way, it looks like your dads left you something to eat."

"They're not my dads and I'm not hungry."

"Yes, they are and I don't care." She was beginning to sound as annoyed with him as he was with her. "Eat. You need food if you want to recover."

Ugh, she had a point. Grudgingly, he sat up and ate. The cold toast, banana and apple sauce had Yuuri written all over them.

He heard a camera again, this time accompanied by a flash.

He put the toast down. Slowly. "Did you seriously just take a photo?"

She shrugged, flipping through her phone's gallery. "Oh yeah, you bet I did." She beamed at him, her teeth looking freakishly sharp in the dim light. "Have to document the evidence this happened."

He lunged for her. It would have been more effective if his head and belly hadn't protested the movement. And if his legs hadn't been trapped one second too long under the covers.

She dodged him easily, phone disappearing into her pocket. And then she was half hauling him into the bathroom, where he found himself bent over the toilet, dry gagging. Fortunately, his meager breakfast stayed where it belonged and he straightened gingerly, glaring at her.

"If I see those on Instagram..."

She snorted, helping him back up. He was ashamed to admit that he needed the assistance. "Please. These are for me alone."

"Creepy..." He winced as he climbed back in bed. "Ugh," he groaned, reaching up to his throbbing head. Even knowing what to expect-it was hardly his first concussion, unfortunately-he was surprised by the size of the gross bump on his scalp. "Ugh!"

Tiffany sighed as she watched him struggling to get comfortable again, then left the room. He knew it was too much to hope that she might be going away for good, and sure enough, she returned a few minutes later, carrying a bag of ice and a bottle of paracetamol.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" she asked, wrapping the ice in a towel and handing it to him along with two pills.

His glare as he pressed the cold bundle to his aching skull was her answer.

"Calm down, it was just a question."

"I'm fine," he gritted out, gingerly adjusting the ice. It hurt, and probably would until the area numbed a bit. "And get me some water." He flexed his hand, rolling the pills in his palm and watching them absently.

"You're not fine, or you'd be wide awake and tearing up all the ice at the rink instead of staring at your hand like a zombie," she pointed out, but at least she did as he'd asked and stepped from the room to fill up a plastic cup at the bathroom sink. Her voice grew louder as she spoke over the faucet. "And if you keep throwing up, I'm not sure how you're going to compete in just a few days. If it doesn't let up soon, it might be dangerous."

When she handed him the cup, he threw the water and pills back like he'd once done with a shot of vodka. His last shot of vodka ever. "It isn't dangerous. It just hurts. It's fucking nauseating."

"Or it could be intercranial pressure. I read it in Medscape."

"Medscape," he scoffed. "That's not a doctor, and neither are you."

"Yeah..." Her eyes glittered almost viciously, though her tone was saccharine. "Would you rather we go see one? I can call an ambulance right now."

"No!" He tossed the empty cup at her and sank down into his covers again. "Just let me sleep! And stop taking pictures of me you perv!"

She ignored him, continuing to pull her phone out of her pocket. As he closed his eyes, he heard a camera snap. His own growl followed him down into sleep.

When he next woke, or came to, or whatever, it wasn't because of his pest of a fan for once.

The door creaked open and then Katsudon was stammering like an idiot, "Oh! Oops, sorry! So sorry! I-I think I may have opened the wrong door, somehow. I..."

"No, Mr. Katsud-err, Katsuki, you have the right room."

As Yuri sat up groggily, knowing that this was all somehow bad, but not quite able yet to get his brain to work out exactly why that was, Viktor cut in.

The man's voice was by far the most dangerous Yuri had ever heard before in his life. "Who are you and why are you in our room?"

Yuri peered over at him in surprise, shivering in alarm as he took in the older skater's narrowed blue eyes. Even Cheetah Woman, who had been unfazed by all of Yuri's glares, took a step away.

"I'm T-Tiffany Lachinov. Yurio's friend. And I'm-"

He resisted the urge to scream at the hated nickname, but only because it would have made his head hurt worse.

"Yurochka has no friends but us," the silver haired man challenged, edging into the room and standing by Yuri's bed, eyes flicking over him assessingly before his stern glare returned to Tiffany. Yuri noticed with irritation that he was standing directly between the girl and the bed.

"I do too!" The blond snapped. He had Otabek and... Well, he had Otabek. "And you're not one of them, old man! You or Katsudon!"

"I assume that you do know her, then?" Yuuri asked, apparently finally recovering from the embarrassment of thinking he'd barged into some teenage girl's room. He walked inside and set his skate bag on the chair.

"Yeah. She, um... she..." He glared pointedly at Tiffany, encouraging her to help him out. Stupid useless, concussed brain couldn't even come up with a lie.

"We met at one of Mrs. Baranovskaya's recitals. My sister is a ballet dancer, you see. Not as good as Yurio, but a big fan. My family came to Barcelona to see Yuri compete, and when he told me that he was... erm..." This time, she was the one who glanced his way for help.

His brain slowly supplied a useful lie, much as he hated to even pretend that her presence here was wanted in any way. "I told her about my flu. Asked her to keep me company," he grumbled.

At last, Viktor relaxed. If, by relaxed, one meant that he stopped acting like he was going to murder the girl any moment and instead turned the "extra" up five notches. "Ahh, our little Yurochka has another friend!" he crowed, clapping his hands together.

God, the idiot's smile really did sort of resemble a heart. It was sickening. "Shut up you asshole!"

Yuuri chuckled quietly. "Well, it is good to meet you, Tiffany. Though I see you already know Viktor and I."

She nodded, beaming. "Oh yes. I'm a huge fan of you both, and Yuri of course. And besides, my good friend Yurio here talks about you two all the time." Her eyes glittered maliciously as she glanced at the irate skater. "He really loves you guys, you know. And looks up to you."

Katsudon blushed happily at that, even as Yuri shouted, "I do not!" His head throbbed with pain with every word, but damn it, he needed to stop this before she weaseled her way into their hearts and they adopted her like a pet. "Tiffany, it was great seeing you. Really. But it's time for you to go." She opened her mouth, and he continued quickly before she could protest or say anything incriminating. "I'm sure your family is wondering where you are, and really, I'm feeling better. Yuuri and Viktor can take it from here, thanks."

It irked him to have to do it, but he cast Yuuri a pleading look, hoping the man would side with him on this and not with Viktor, who was already looking disappointed at the prospect of Yuri's mysterious friend leaving.

The Japanese skater's eyes softened. "It sounds like he could use some rest, Tiffany. But thank you for being here with him today."

She sighed. "You're welcome." She smirked at Yuri, who glared back. "Make sure they don't let you sleep," she said pointedly, then turned back to Yuuri and Viktor. "He's slept almost the whole day away."

"We'll keep an eye on him," Viktor said, clearly amused.

Yuri resisted the urge to snort. Viktor could barely look out for himself, let alone Yuuri and their obnoxious horse of a poodle. He had serious doubts about whether the man could also watch over a concussed skater.

He was soon proven wrong over the coming days, however. True, Yuuri was the main one to nursemaid and nag him to eat this and do that to rest up and recover from the "stomach bug", even going out of his way to track down the ingredients for a soupy rice porridge called okayu and forcing him to take foul-smelling little black seirogan tablets to help "settle his belly". And true, for the first day or so, Tiffany was the one who kept him from sleeping too long-thoroughly against his will-by finding lame excuses to call him about this or that every couple of hours.

"If you post that on Instagram, I'll _fucking kill you!_" he howled into the phone after the fourth round of "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go", then hung up with a scowl.

But Viktor did his part. After Yuuri found the ingredients at a local Asian mart for his weird porridge, it was Viktor who sweet-talked one of the hotel's cooks into transforming the hodge-podge of ingredients and Yuuri's carefully penned recipe into a meal that actually tasted pretty good. If he had to eat Japanese food, Yuri would have preferred a bowl of katsudon-not that he'd admit that to Yuuri-but the okayu was an acceptable alternative.

But today's meal-a proper Russian bowl of chicken broth with croutons-was way better. It almost eased the anger boiling within him from Tiffany's latest text.

"Post what?" Viktor asked, peeking over his shoulder as he set the soup bowl on the nightstand.

Yuri quickly deleted Tiffany's text, and with it the photo she'd sent him of himself, fast asleep and drooling into his pillow with towel-wrapped ice perched on his head. "None of your business, old man!" He glared balefully at the soup. "Spoon?"

He really didn't need tasty but still rather wimpy food like chicken soup or medicine for his stomach anymore. Or, for that matter, to have Tiffany keep harassing him nonstop to keep him from sleeping too long and falling into a coma or whatever it was she worried might happen. His nausea had relented late the first day and, when he'd looked up the Medscape article she'd apparently been referencing for his care, he learned that she'd really only needed to keep him awake for the first few hours, the creepy stalker. Most of his symptoms were gone, except for dizziness when he moved too fast and a lingering headache.

But he knew that he wasn't ready to dare the ice just yet, and even tomorrow's competition would be iffy. If he wanted to stay tucked up in the hotel bed recovering for as long as possible, his only hope was to keep feigning "stomach flu".

But it was going to be hard to have all the energy he needed to compete and have any chance of medaling after eating nothing but Japanese rice porridge, Russian chicken soup, bananas, and applesauce for days. He needed something stronger, with some protein and electrolytes.

"Any chance you could convince the cook to make solyanka tomorrow?" he asked Viktor, doing his best to seem as meek and pathetic as possible. He knew the idiot ate it up, even if, like Tiffany, Viktor responded by taking a billion photos to show the world "poor little angry Yurio". It was grating, but if it might get him some solyanka, he'd endure. The hearty soup, with lots of sausage, bacon, salami, olives, capers, pickles, cabbage and dill, would be perfect for getting him back on his feet as fast as possible in time for the competition.

Viktor looked at him consideringly. "Are you starting to feel better, Yurochka?"

His eyes narrowed at the stupid name-only Grandpa got to call him that!-but he nodded. "Yeah. Just a bit weak still. Hopefully if I eat something real..."

Viktor beamed that ridiculous heart shaped smile. "Well then, tell you what. If you eat all of that-" He nodded to indicate the bowl of soup. "-and drink all the tea I'm steeping, and take the medicine my Yuuri has for you, I will see if I can find the right things to make it." He looked excited. "I wonder how Spanish pickles and chorizo will taste in it. Hmm..."

Yuri resisted the urge to grimace. If it would get him back on the ice again, he'd try any weird food Viktor wanted to throw at him, and Yuuri's bizarre medicines from the bag of "travel remedies" the fucking hypochondriac carried around as well.

"Fine," he said, pasting on a smile as Viktor spooned a dollop of raspberry jam into the tea. God, he liked the stuff well enough-he wouldn't be Russian if he didn't-but did the idiot have to put so much in there? He was going to end up replacing his concussion with fucking diabetes.

"Here you go, Yurio," Yuuri said, three seirogan tablets in hand and mask firmly in place. Such a weirdo. But a useful weirdo. And kind, though Yuri wasn't about to admit it.

Yuri drank his tea, ate his soup, took his bitter medicine, and even managed not to complain about his stupid nickname. He'd do anything he had to in order to be back on his feet and, better yet, back on the ice tomorrow. He was going to compete even if it killed him. And maybe, just maybe, he'd not just make the podium, but reclaim gold.

He would love to wipe that stupid heart-shaped smile off the Russian Legend's face.


End file.
